by Murray Pura
“We got time for coffee?” called Slick as he opened the coach door for Cody and Cheyenne. “Why, you got your fixin’s?”
“I do.”
Slick had a sack out of which he pulled wood, newspaper, matches, coffee, a coffeepot, brown sugar, and tin cups. “A habit I picked up during my gold rush days.” He lit a fire at the side of the road, melted snow in the pot, boiled it, added the coffee grounds, let it steep, added sugar, and started pouring.
“The kids have some?” he asked Charlotte.
“A little bit would do them no harm.”
“And I have some cocoa to sprinkle into it, for Slick and those under twenty only.” He winked, producing a can and a thick block wrapped in paper.
“What’s in the paper, Slick?” asked Stoner.
“Only for those under twenty, ladies and gentlemen.”
He opened the paper, broke off chunks of dark chocolate, and dropped them first into Cheyenne’s cup and then Cody’s. “Give it a minute to melt some,” he told them.
Stan laughed and tilted back his hat. “Slick, I got to say, you are some ball of fire.”
Bert snorted. “Missed your calling. Should’ve opened up a stage station. People’d take the trip through Apache country just to sit down to one of your hot drinks.”
“When I retire from keeping you alive, Bert.”
Zeph sipped at his cup. The heat was giving him new life. Charlotte still had her arm through his. A scarf was wound around her head, just leaving a space for her eyes, nose, and mouth. Snow was melting on the scarf and the loose strands of hair that had slipped out from under.
Moonlight and starlight always found her eyes. She was more beautiful than God’s heaven and earth. Now how was he supposed to tell her something like that with all these men standing around and the horses snorting and blowing and stamping and steaming? He gazed at the mountains to the east.
“Were you going to say something?” she asked.
“The moon makes the mountains look like mother of pearl.”
“Is that what it was?”
“And you,” he said so the others could not hear. “The moon makes me see a beauty in you I’ve never seen anywhere else on earth.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer him. Instead she looked away.
Stan glanced over and poured the dregs of his coffee on the ground. “Let’s get on board, ladies and gents. Mister and Missus Wyoming have a train to catch in Utah.”
Chapter 11
The locomotive stood hissing and trembling, like a blackened and smoking arrowhead quivering on a bowstring, ready to let fly at the snow-capped Rockies and the hundreds of miles of open plain that stretched east of them.
Zeph and Cody stood together and stared at it. US GRANT was painted in white italic script on the side of the locomotive’s cab.
“Is that the president?” asked Cody.
“That’s right,” replied Zeph. “Though maybe this locomotive was commissioned while he was still commanding the Union army.”
“That is simon-pure.”
A man in striped overalls with a striped hat, clean white shirt, and bright-red scarf climbed down from the cab, pulled off one of his thick tan gloves, and put out a hand for Zeph to shake. He turned and shook Cody’s hand, too, a big smile playing over his sun- and wind-burnt face.
“Bobby E. Clements,” he said with a grin, “kind of like Bobby E. Lee, what folk in Carolina called me during the war, though now most call me by the name the railroad hung around my neck, Cannonball Clements.”
“Fremont Wyoming. And my son, Cody.”
“Proud to meet you. You two on board?”
“All the way to Omaha,” said Zeph.
“I take her more than halfway to Cheyenne. Cody, I will cut her slick as river water through the valley, you’ll have a fine ride.”
“Will we see buffalo?” asked Cody.
“Buffalo? Well, who knows. Now and then we might see a small herd south of the tracks. I see any coming up, I’ll blow the whistle four times, how’s about that?”
Cody smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“I heard you talking while I was up in the cab. You bet, Mister Wyoming, the Union Pacific had this engine named for the president before he ever was a president. Might seem funny to have an old Rebel like me driving a locomotive named after a Yankee general, but I got no quarrels with Grant. He treated Lee fair at Appomattox. Treated us all fair, for that matter, back in ‘65.”
Zeph thought he was going to say something else about how Grant had treated the South since ‘69 when he’d become president, but Cannonball squinted up at the sun and shook his head. “It ain’t all what presidents do or don’t do that makes the South what it is, or the whole country for that matter. We do plenty of harm on our own.” He looked Zeph in the eye. “I don’t think much of these armed gangs decidin’ who gets to vote and who doesn’t in Carolina. I won’t go back unless my own people make it right. Maybe I’ll never go back. I guess I’m three parts a westerner by now, anyhow.”
He walked over and patted the side of the US Grant. “She’s a good one. Danforth Locomotive Works, four drivers five foot in diameter, twenty-four inch length of stroke. There’s ones with more drivers, but Grant holds her own. She does well, very well.”
“Cannonball!” called the fireman from the cab. He had his pocket watch open in his hand. “We’re burnin’ daylight.”
“Easy, Dan,” said Cannonball. “We’ll make it up.”
He shook hands with Cody and Zeph again. “You two enjoy the trip. Got sleepers?” Zeph nodded.
“The rails’ll rock you like babies. Good day, gentlemen.”
Cannonball climbed back up into the cab. Zeph put his arm around Cody, and they started walking back to their car where Charlotte and Cheyenne were waiting. The air had frost in it, but the day was not uncomfortable.
“How long will it take for us to reach Omaha?” asked Cody.
“I’d say about three days.”
“It took us a lot longer to come out by wagon from Pennsylvania.”
“I guess it did. Train goes from California to New York in a week and a day.”
Charlotte was at the window, smiling down. They could just make out her voice. “I thought we might have to haul everything out of the baggage car and wait for the next train east.”
“We met the engineer!” said Cody excitedly. “A very nice man named Cannonball. He will blow the whistle four times when he sees buffalo!”
“Will he?” Charlotte laughed. “I hope he doesn’t spot a herd at midnight.”
Zeph and Cody swung up into the car and sat in their seats facing Charlotte and Cheyenne. The car was crowded with people heading east for Cheyenne, Omaha, Chicago, and New York. Charlotte handed them each an orange. Cody’s eye lit up.
“Something special,” she said, offering the boy her black-handled John Petty and Sons pen-knife. “Real William Wolfskill oranges from Los Angeles, California.” Zeph glanced at the knife. “Where’s that from?” “It was Ricky’s. He had it in the army.” “Sheffield, England?”
Charlotte looked over at him. “What a question. I never examined it with a magnifying glass. I just use it.”
Zeph took out his own pocketknife, a J.M. Vance with a spear point and a small saw people called a cock spur. V & Co was stamped on the blade. He began to peel his orange. He noticed that Cody was more interested in the knives than he was in the oranges.
“Where did you find the fruit?” Zeph asked Charlotte.
She was helping Cheyenne use another knife that looked to be German made with mother of pearl handles. “There was a market downtown. I purchased more apples, too. In case we run into another blizzard.”
Zeph grunted. “You think the locomotive will eat apples?”
“The engineer might.”
Cody opened the knife Charlotte had given him and started poking at the skin on his orange, but he kept glancing up at Zeph.
“What is it, boy?” Zeph finally a
sked, popping a few orange segments into his mouth.
“What do you use the saw for?”
“Every now and then it cuts something better than the straight edge of the big blade.”
“Where did you get it from, Mister—”
“What’s that, son?” Zeph interrupted.
“Pa, where did you buy it from?” Cody’s face reddened.
“Well, I picked it up in Pennsylvania, Cody.” Zeph winked to ease the boy’s discomfort at calling him Pa for the first time. “Here. Made in Philadelphia. Why don’t you try it on that William Wolfskill?” He folded in the blade and saw and handed the pocketknife to the boy.
Cody’s discomfort vanished as he held Zeph’s knife with the warm honey bone handles.
“Thank you … Pa.”
“You’re welcome, son.”
Charlotte glanced up from Cheyenne’s orange. “I didn’t know you’d been to Pennsylvania.”
Zeph finished eating his orange and looked out the window at Ogden. “I’ve been.”
“You’ve never mentioned it. Here I thought we had a great surprise in store for you.”
Zeph could see she was miffed. He stared out the window at two men hitching a horse to a small wagon. “Sorry.”
“When was that?”
Zeph watched the men load what looked to be sacks of lettuce into the wagon. “The war.”
She sat stock-still for a moment and took this bit of information in. Cheyenne slipped the knife from Charlotte’s hands and cut away at the orange.
“Gettysburg,” Charlotte finally said.
“That’s right.”
Now it was her turn to look out the window at the men loading the wagon. “My father was killed at that battle.”
Zeph didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t want to be there, Conner.”
“Nor did he.”
The edge was back in her voice. There was nothing he could do. It was over and done. Was she going to sit there and worry whether he was the man her father died beside? He thought it best to stand up.
“Wonder why we haven’t started yet?’ he said out loud.
A man in a white suit and gold paisley vest turned around and glanced up at him. “I just asked the conductor the same question. Apparently they’re taking another stack of wood into the tender.”
Zeph eased himself into the aisle. Charlotte reached out a hand.
“Where are you going?”
“The smoking car.”
“But you don’t smoke.”
“Maybe Fremont Wyoming does.”
She got up and slipped her arm through his.
“I’ll walk with you,” she said.
“Are you sure you want to?”
“Perfectly sure. Cody, help your sister finish peeling her orange.”
“All right … Ma.”
They walked arm in arm down the aisle of the car. There was scarcely room to do this, but Charlotte was determined. Zeph kept banging into seats and people’s knees and elbows. The smoking car had about half a dozen men in it who all stood up as Charlotte swept through.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said.
In another car they sat down briefly in a set of vacant seats. She took his hand and squeezed it. Her eyes were dark violet.
“I am sorry. You were not responsible for the war or my father’s death. You caught me off guard, that’s all. I didn’t know about Gettysburg.” “I don’t talk about it.”
“Is that battle the reason you won’t wear a gun?” “One reason.” “But a big reason.”
“Yes.”
“I admire you all the more for it.”
Zeph looked down at the floor.
“Is there something else bothering you?” she asked.
Zeph lifted his eyes to hers. “When you and Cheyenne were having baths, Cody and I walked to the telegraph office.”
Charlotte’s gaze became more intense. “Was there something there?”
He nodded.
“Another Bible passage?”
“No. Nothing from Raber. This one was from Matt.”
“What did he say?”
“The gang never came by Iron Springs. Matter of fact, they never came within a hundred miles of Iron Springs.” “Then where are they?”
“Nobody knows.” He took her hands in his. “We have to stick together on this, Conner.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had been in Pennsylvania during the war. I hate that conflict and everything about it. It was jarring to think about Gettysburg again. I was just out of sorts for a few minutes. I trust you, Fremont, and I know we will make it through this. I believe God meant us to see it through together.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time since I read the telegram to figure out what it means,” he told her. “But I have prayed for wisdom about this.”
“And what has God shown you?”
“I think that as soon as their accomplice telegraphed them we were headed for the railroad at Ogden they stopped thinking about Iron Springs. They knew they couldn’t catch us. So they changed direction.”
“To where?”
“If you wanted to make good time on horseback and try to get ahead of the train what route would you use?”
“I’m not sure.” Zeph watched her brow wrinkle and the freckles gather tightly together around her small nose. “You can’t ride through the Powder River Country. It’s been closed to white travelers since the ‘68 treaty with Red Cloud.”
“Are you sure?”
A flash of anger darkened Charlotte’s eyes. “I’m the town librarian, remember? I read about these things all the time.”
“What I meant was, do you think that treaty would keep Seraphim Raber and his crew off the Bozeman Trail?”
Her eyes widened. “But President Grant closed the forts along the Bozeman.”
“All the better. No military patrols to slow them down.”
“What about the tribes?”
“Raber and his men will move fast. Steal or buy fresh horses. Move by night as much as they can. I think Raber’s more worried about the kids than he is the Indians.”
The whistle blew. There was a jerk and a jolt, and Charlotte gripped Zeph’s hands tightly. The train began to move forward.
“We should get back to the children,” she said, getting to her feet.
She linked her arm through his again. They came back through the smoking car. It was empty. They reached their seats just as Cody sprinkled water from a canteen over Cheyenne’s hands. She looked up at Zeph and Charlotte and smiled.
“My fingers are pretty sticky. Sorry.”
“That’s fine,” said Charlotte as she took her seat.
Zeph noticed right away it was a Union army canteen covered in blue cloth. Charlotte caught his look.
“I used it on the stage,” she said.
“I guess I didn’t see it too clearly in the dark.”
“It was Ricky’s. He always carried it.”
“I remember it now. How do you keep it looking so new?” “I wash the cloth regularly.”
The train gathered speed. Cheyenne and Cody had the window seats and eagerly gazed in all directions. Cheyenne said, “Buffalo, Indians, cavalry, US Grant, buffalo, Indians, cavalry, US Grant,” and Charlotte arched her eyebrows.
“That’s quite a chant, Miss Wyoming.”
“I like the rhythm. Cody taught me.”
Cody looked embarrassed. “I didn’t teach her to chant. I just told her that Cannonball would blow the whistle if he saw buffalo and that I hoped we’d see Plains Indians and cavalry, too.”
She squeezed his hand. “That’s all right. It might be nice to see all those things. Provided everyone comes in peace.”
An hour passed. And another. Cody feel asleep with his head propped up on his hand and his elbow planted firmly on the windowsill. Cheyenne slumped into Charlotte’s side. Charlotte placed her arm around the girl.
“Aren’t they precious, Fremont?”
“They are.
More precious than gold dust.” “That’s a sweet way of putting it.”
She stared out the window as the sun dropped lower and grew more golden. “Where do you think they’ll show up?”
“They’re going to keep riding the Bozeman and cutting a diagonal from west to east. They’ll come out in Nebraska. We won’t see a sign of them until well after Cheyenne.”
“How long will that be?”
He shrugged. “Depends on where they want to make their move against us. They might wait until Omaha.” “You don’t think that, do you?”
“No.”
“How long, Fremont?”
“They’ll want to put Fort Laramie well behind them. Catch us between Omaha and Cheyenne.”
“You mean they’ll try and stop the train?”
“There’s six of them. Fewer men than that have held up trains.”
Charlotte felt a shiver go through her like ice water. “Where are they going to block the tracks, Fremont?”
“The way I see it, they’ll stick to the North Platte River after the Bozeman plays out and follow it right to the rail line. That’ll put them far enough away from the law and the army to buy them some breathing room.”
“Where and when, Fremont?”
“There’s a little spot named Alkali that will suit them. Big Spring. O’Fallons. Maxwell. Any of them. Two days from here.”
“Two days? Are you sure?” “Less than two days.”
She reached for his hand again. He held hers in both of his. The sun was beginning to set. The Rockies in the east were flames of crimson and bronze and made her cheeks shine. “What will we do, Z?” she whispered. He gave her a small smile and shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”
To himself he thought, I can’t say that I’ll ever know, Charlotte.
Chapter 12
Charlotte watched Zeph sleep. They had enjoyed a fine supper the night before at the Green River Dining Halls in Green River, Wyoming. For the first time since she’d taken Cheyenne under her wing, the girl had taken a pencil to paper and tried to make a sketch of Castle Rock, a large hill in the vicinity. The sketch had been done so well it surprised Charlotte. Now they were through the high mountains and traveling across the plains.
